


Broken Things All Have Stories

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Sex, Fluff and Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, taking things slowly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are taking things slowly. After a mishap involving a Wiimote and a horse figurine, they both get a lesson on the value of communication.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 257





	Broken Things All Have Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 69th fic. You'd think I'd write something fitting, but nope, you get this absolute nonsense.

Absolutely unbelievable. Jaskier exited the charity shop with his coveted find clutched tight-fisted to his chest as if the cashier might chase after him at any moment, demanding more than the two quid he'd paid. He didn't stop grinning all the way to the bus stop, and only once seated did he relax.

_Just Dance: Best Of_ , for the Nintendo Wii.

With reverence, Jaskier traced his fingers over the words 'including two brand new tracks', eyes shining. Yeah, maybe it had been released eight years ago, and maybe Geralt preferred the elf sword man game on the Switch – which Jaskier enjoyed watching – and the cowboy game on the PS4 – which Jaskier enjoyed watching far less – but when Jaskier was in the zone? When he was pulling off flawless combos, beating his high score for 'California Gurls' by Katy Perry as he leapt and twirled around the living room? He was untouchable. He was a fucking king.

With one leg bouncing, Jaskier watched the scenery blur past him, eager finger ready on the bell to stop the bus once it neared his stop. A small child pressed it before he could. As he disembarked, he bit back the urge to whisper, “Santa isn't real”, because he was in a good mood.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called out once home, shrugging his coat off at the front door. The house was dark and quiet. He made a squeak of joy, and headed straight for the television.

It wasn't as though Jaskier was pleased his boyfriend wasn't home. Thinking upon that set Jaskier's skin alive with a whole new wave of goose-bumps. _Boyfriend_. The label was very new to the both of them. After being housemates for a year or two, they were taking romance slow, frightened to quash the flame of attraction that had sparked between them. Geralt was more skittish than Jaskier, unwilling to sacrifice their friendship, but Jaskier was patient. He didn't want anything that Geralt was not giving freely and without caution.

No, it was more the fact that having the house to himself meant that Jaskier could break out his best moves. The ones that earned the highest scores. Jaskier was going to shake his god-damn tail feather so hard that it'd fall out of his arse.

Whilst the Wii was booting up, Jaskier bounded up the stairs two at a time, shedding his stuffy work clothes as he went. Geralt and Jaskier still had separate bedrooms, but it was mainly for storage purposes. Geralt's bed was larger and softer, so they usually slept tucked in it together. Unless Jaskier was having what Geralt referred to as 'the kicky dreams', in which case Jaskier would wake up alone.

Wriggling into a pair of sweat pants and a beaten-up tee' that said _Little Miss Fitness_ across the front, Jaskier pushed his fringe back from his face with a headband, kicked off his dress-shoes, and happily left the day's clothing in a puddle for his future self to deal with. Back downstairs, he stopped off in the kitchen for water. Then he pushed the coffee table out of the way in the living room, grabbed the Wiimote, and hit start.

Jaskier decimated 'Hey Ya!' by Outkast, crushed 'Move Your Feet' by Junior Senior, and panted his way through 'Barbie Girl' by Aqua. The screen praised his high scores – as well it should, Jaskier thought – and he took a brief break to rehydrate as he skimmed through the song selections.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Jaskier whispered, as 'Toxic' by Britney Spears came up on the menu. “It's so on.”

High kick, step left, windmill whirl. Jaskier laughed gleefully, copying the digital person on the screen. “With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride,” Britney sung, and Jaskier pivoted, mouthing the words, “you're toxic, I'm slipping under.”

The person on the television demanded a dramatic pose, and Jaskier delivered. He flung his right arm up, twisting his hip, diva-delicious. The game exploded with numbers, combo after combo.

At the same time, the Wiimote exited Jaskier's sweaty grip, sailing neatly across the room. It collided with a statuette on the mantle. All of Jaskier's muscles froze up as he witnessed the decapitation of Geralt's black stallion figurine, the porcelain clattering loudly.

“Fuck.”

Ignoring the applauding digital audience, Jaskier crept over to inspect the damage, still gasping for breath. The figure – Geralt called it 'Horse Number Eight', because that was what was inscribed on the base – was mostly intact, save for the fact that it was headless. He located the head, and noted with some relief that that piece, too, was whole.

No problem. They had super-glue, and Jaskier had at least twenty minutes before Geralt was due home. Jaskier would simply repair the horse, run a black marker over the chips in the paint, and Geralt would never ever know. Bingo bango, easy peasy.

Placated, Jaskier shut the Wii down and pulled the coffee table back into place. He picked up the two sections of horse and strode into the kitchen to prepare for the surgery. After scuffling about in the odds and ends drawer, he found the tube of glue, and sat himself at the table.

First, he lined up the two pieces. They fit quite well. Jaskier would just need to apply a thick coat of adhesive. That was how this sort of thing worked, right? With his tongue poking out, Jaskier opened the glue, and was met with his first obstacle.

The bloody tube was stopped up.

“Damn—where are the scissors?” Jaskier muttered to himself, too lazy to conduct a proper search for them. He opted for a paring knife instead, chopping the tip of the congealed glue off. Satisfied with his innovation, he began to coat the edge of the horse's head with a copious layer of adhesive.

It was runny. Wasn't glue supposed to be thick? Jaskier winced as it dribbled in directions he didn't want it to, before gripping the head and jamming it onto the body, trying to fit it back into place like he had before. It was backwards. He cursed, and turned it, wriggling the pieces together, willing them to adhere. Jaskier patiently waited thirty whole seconds.

When he removed his hand, the horse's head came away with it. It hadn't taken, then. More glue. Jaskier flexed his right hand, and discovered to his mounting horror that the adhesive had indeed set firmly, as the label on the tube boasted. The stallion's head peeked mockingly at him from his palm, where it was now bonded to his flesh.

“Fucking—get off!” Jaskier hissed, shaking his hand. The ceramic was unmoved. He ran to the sink, turning on the water, and tried to wash the glue free. If anything, it set harder.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier whispered, “oh fuck. Oh, cock.”

Scrabbling for his phone, Jaskier thumbed the screen active with his left hand, and began to search _'how remove horse head from hand glue stuck help'_. And then he heard Geralt's footsteps outside the door.

“Piss!” Jaskier squeaked, shoving the leaking glue-tube and the body of the horse into the bread-bin. He flicked the kitchen light off, and bounded back into the living room, planting himself on the sofa. Mashing the remote's 'on' button, he heard Geralt's keys turn in the lock. As an afterthought, he shoved his ceramic-laden hand into the couch cushions beside him.

“Jaskier?” Geralt's voice came from the hallway.

“In here!” Jaskier called back, hoping he sounded normal, and not like a man that had blood on his hands. Or horse. Or whatever.

Geralt appeared, smiling, and despite Jaskier's anxiety, he could not help but return the grin. In his hands, Geralt was cradling a brown-paper wrapped bundle. Sitting beside Jaskier on the couch, Geralt greeted his boyfriend with a short, chaste kiss. Jaskier's right hand flinched, eager to stroke Geralt's jawline, but he kept it buried.

“Hello, darling. How are you? What's all this?”

“Well,” Geralt toyed with the paper, and placed the flowers on Jaskier's lap, “thought you'd like them.”

Jaskier picked up the elegant bouquet of pink lillies with his free hand, and beamed. “They're lovely, Geralt! Oh, how perfect.”

“Bad for, bad for cats and dogs, though.” Geralt noted, shyly averting his gaze.

“Then it is a good thing it's just you and I for now, hmm?” Jaskier bumped his forehead against Geralt's, bringing him back into the moment. “Thank you, you dear man. What's the occasion?”

Geralt grinned, sweetly and lazily, and took the flowers back. “I'm gonna get a vase.”

“Evasive tonight, are we?” Jaskier called after him, as Geralt went into the kitchen. He flicked through the channels, turning the volume on the television down, trying to find a program that would soothe Geralt's skittishness. Sometimes he got like this. Jaskier settled on a documentary about big cats, something that could play in the background.

“No.” Geralt answered when he returned, placing the pretty flowers on the table. “I thought that tonight... well. If you wanted. I thought that...”

“We'd take it a little further than kissing?” Jaskier gently supplied, reading Geralt's tone. Geralt relaxed visibly, nodding. “You romantic. You didn't need to get me flowers for that, gosh.”

“You don't like them...?”

“No!” Jaskier almost pulled his treasonous hand out of hiding. “No, I love them. It's just so... _you_. C'mere.”

Geralt did as he was bid, sitting back down. Jaskier kissed him again, more thoughtfully this time; a gentle exchange of mutual affection, the hesitant brush of tongues. Geralt surprised him by deepening it first, offering a purr that slid down Jaskier's throat, grazing the bounce of Jaskier's bottom lip with sharp teeth. Jaskier tangled his left hand in Geralt's tied-back hair and tugged, whimpering. With a gasp, they parted.

“What--” Geralt tilted his head, allowing Jaskier to lave and lick his way along the sharp slant of Geralt's stubbled jawline, “what do you want...?”

“You.” Jaskier moaned, nipping Geralt's earlobe, earning him a shiver. “Fuck, I wanna suck you, Geralt. Can I?”

Geralt's breath caught. “I'm—I haven't showered the day off.”

“And I've been working out. Don't care. Want you, darling.”

Had Geralt protested further, Jaskier would have reigned in his desire and given him space. But he watched his boyfriend's pupils expand, watched him nod in anticipatory silence, and he let his mouth slip lower. Geralt settled further back into the couch cushions, suffering the occasional tremble.

Buttons. Fucking shirt buttons that Jaskier needed more than one hand to undo. He cursed his stupidity, clenching harder around the horse's head affixed to his right hand, and decided to treat this as a challenge. In one fluid movement, Jaskier sunk to his knees between Geralt's legs, spreading them with his presence. He hid his right hand between his own thighs, hidden.

“Want you now, like this.” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt cursed. They collided hands reaching for the fly of Geralt's work trousers, and Jaskier giggled, letting Geralt take care of the zipper. Beneath the fabric, Geralt's cock was solid within the confines of his sensible black boxer-briefs. Jaskier leaned forward, nuzzling the hard flesh, mouthing over the lines of Geralt's hidden prick. Geralt let out a small whine, and Jaskier thrilled at it.

One-handed, Jaskier pulled down the elastic waistband, and audibly gasped when Geralt's cock sprung free. He'd seen Geralt naked before, and he'd certainly felt his boyfriend's erection in the morning – or during a particularly heated make-out session – but from this angle, it seemed monumental. Jaskier's mouth watered.

“Sorry, it's--” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier answered him by swirling his tongue around the thick pink tip, slurping at the ridge of Geralt's cock-head, and Geralt's apology dissolved into a moan. He had to hold Geralt's underwear away with his left hand, and he sorely missed the use of his right. Geralt deserved to be worshipped; Jaskier should be able to stroke the base of his shaft, toy with his balls, rake his nails through the hair on Geralt's chest. Instead, he drooled around the plump prick and did his best to swallow him down hands-free.

Geralt jerked his hips forward, an instinctive reaction, and hit Jaskier's throat too hard. Jaskier withdrew, gagging, breathing through the mistake.

“Fuck,” Geralt winced, “I'm so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, it happens to us all.” Jaskier smiled, smooching the tip of Geralt's twitching cock. “Now, where were we?”

Again he took as much as he could of Geralt's length down his throat, trying his best to both hold the waistband out of his way and fist the base of Geralt's dick with one hand, clumsy with it, more spittle than suction. Geralt was making a low whimpering noise, but it sounded more frustrated than erotic to Jaskier's ears. With a defeated sigh, Jaskier sat back on his heels.

“I'm sorry.” Jaskier said. “I'm not... my best, tonight.”

“That's okay.” Geralt absolved him immediately. Hurriedly, he tucked himself away, still hard. “Was it... the flowers? You don't like lillies?”

“No, Geralt--”

“You kept my shirt on. Is it my scars? I know they're not very... nice to look at. I'm sorry.” Geralt lowered his gaze. “I've been told I'm too big before, too. Did I hurt your throat? Fuck, Jaskier, I knew I'd wreck this.”

“Geralt--”

“I was trying to be spontaneous because I thought, maybe then, maybe I wouldn't think about it so much—maybe you wouldn't think about it so much—but--”

“Geralt!” Jaskier gripped his boyfriend's face with his left hand, forcing him to focus. Then, with a great deal of shameful wincing, he withdrew his right hand from between his legs.

“Um. Why... why is the head of Horse Number Eight glued to your hand?” Geralt asked, as though it was a sensible question to ask.

“Because I am fucking stupid, Geralt.” Jaskier answered, as though it was a sensible answer.

* * *

“And then you came home and I fucking panicked and you, you were so lovely and good lord man, do you have any idea how hot you are? I am weak, I couldn't admit my folly. You wanted me and I tripped over myself to have you. But, erm, I am better without a horse head glued to my hand.” Jaskier deflated with his explanation, picking at the glue.

Geralt made a strange noise. Jaskier was too scared to look up, afraid he'd see disgust or rejection on Geralt's face. But when Geralt began to howl with laughter, Jaskier felt some of the tension in his chest ebb. Geralt laughed until tears streamed down his face, snorting ungainly, and Jaskier eventually found himself giggling sheepishly, too.

“Oh my fucking—you couldn't suck me off because you have a horse head glued to your fucking hand. Jaskier!” Geralt wheezed.

“I wanted to, though!” Jaskier defended, hiccuping.

“You are a nightmare. I am dating a buffoon.”

“You are.” Jaskier agreed. “I hope you understand, though. It was a stupid mistake. I'm so sorry about Horse Number Eight. I really wanted to fix him. And I am sorry I didn't tell you. I let my desire for you cloud my better judgement. Forgive me?”

“C'mon,” Geralt stood up, “let's find some of your nail polish remover and get that thing off your hand.”

* * *

Jaskier was in his cosy-safe space, head mooshed beneath Geralt's armpit, face nestled on one of his pectorals, his leg slotted between both of Geralt's. His right hand – now horse and glue free – rested on Geralt's stomach, fiddling with the coarse hair there.

“You can't ever think I don't want you, Geralt.” Jaskier whispered, half-drunk with fatigue and the scent of his beloved. “You are not your scars. I love you, and whenever you are ready, you have all of me. I swear it.”

“Yeah?” Geralt placed his hand over Jaskier's, twining their fingers.

“Yeah. Also? I happen to think you are the perfect size. Fucking hell, Geralt, when you are comfortable, the things I wanna do with you...” Jaskier shivered, curling his toes. “You won't be able to get rid of me, darling.”

Geralt chuckled. “That's good to know. I don't want to be rid of you.”

“You gotta promise me something in return, though.”

“Anything.” Geralt half-turned, so he could capture Jaskier's ghost-moon eyes.

“None of this spontaneous, 'not thinking', forcing yourself to do things shit. I know you've been hurt. I know this is new and scary. I want you, but I will wait. Even if it's goddamn years, Geralt, I'll wait until you are really ready. Do you promise?”

Geralt's eyes shone, the hard line of his lips quivering. “Promise.”

“Good.” Jaskier pressed a kiss into Geralt's side. “Now get some sleep, love. Tomorrow we'll go shopping for a new Horse Number Eight.”

“At the flea market? Can we get pretzels after?”

“'Course.”

Humming his approval, Geralt's breathing began to even out. Jaskier felt himself drifting with him. Before he fell asleep, he felt the familiar nuzzle of Geralt's nose into his hair, and the whispered exhale of breath: _I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading - follow me on tumblr @inber :)


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